


Take Me Home

by Lady_Therion



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:38:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Therion/pseuds/Lady_Therion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Gold takes in a bookish runaway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted under House of Strays, this is an updated continuation of a one shot I wrote for last month’s A Monthly Rumbelling. May’s non-smut prompt was: “Be Our Guest.” I give all credit to the admins for the wonderful prompts and gentle encouragement they give to the fandom.
> 
> I’d also like to give a very special thanks to my beta, Maplesyrup. She is absolutely wonderful - go read her awesome fics!

* * *

 

Every new beginning

Comes from other beginning’s end

Semisonic, “Closing Time”

*******

“Excuse me, sir. You have a phone call.”

Gold takes a moment to remove his gaze from his bitter wife—soon to be ex-wife—to regard the unassuming waitress: blue eyes, brown plaited hair and gold plated name tag that reads, “Belle French.”

“I’m sorry,” says Belle, her brows furrowing. “It’s urgent.”

Milah rolls her eyes and proceeds to cut into her five-star tenderloin, most likely imagining it as one of his limbs. “By all means, _go_. I’m sure we can suss out the sordid details of our divorce afterward.”

Gold throws a napkin on the table, letting the silverware clang on its surface as he bends to retrieve his cane. It’s childish, he knows. But given the barely civil conversation they had, he is beyond caring.

He follows Belle through a winding, velvety corridor, replaying their dinner over and over in his mind.

_All this time, you’ve been unfaithful…_

_Because I never_ **_loved_ ** _you…_

Overcome by dark thoughts, Gold doesn’t realize until a few moments later that he is standing in the middle of the coat room.

“Where’s the phone?”

“Hmm?” says Belle, plopping down into the fold out chair behind the check-in counter. “What phone?”

Gold sputters. “You said I had a phone call?”

Belle’s brows furrow again before an understanding dawns. “Oh! Right. No, there’s no phone call.”

Gold levels a piercing glare that would reduce most of his colleagues to weeping puddles inside his boardroom. But rather than squirming, Belle only smiles at him with gentle amusement.

It is both unexpected and unnerving.

“Look, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she says. “But it sounded like you were having a rough night, so I figured I would do you a favor.”

It is one of the few times in Gold’s life where is rendered speechless. In fact, he is somewhat furious that he can only respond by gaping at her.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. I’ll say you had to leave, make up some excuse. Family emergency or urgent business. Whatever floats your boat.”

“Whatever floats my…?” He clears his throat. “Miss French, while I appreciate the...gesture...I’m afraid I just can’t _leave_ my wife sitting at the table…”

“Why not?”

Is she playing with him? He can’t seem to detect anything suspicious in her open and earnest face. Nevertheless, his mouth curls in a sneer. No doubt she recognizes him from the spotlight sections in Forbes or Wall Street.

“If you’re looking for press or money, I can tell you there are less extortionist ways of getting both.”

“Whoa there,” she says, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m not here for your tips. I’m here to give you an out.”

The unanswered questions floats between them.

_Why?_

“All right,” says Belle, deflating. “I was in a pretty bad situation a little while back. Long story short, I got kicked to the curb, by someone who I thought cared about me. It sucks. _A lot_.” She takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to believe me, but I don’t want your money. I just thought...I would have appreciated someone else looking out for me, is all.”

Another tense silence passes between them.

There have been very few people in Gold’s life who have truly ‘looked out for him.’ In fact, he thinks bitterly, there has only been just the one.

And now, two—thanks to this perplexing girl.

“Tell her that I was called away to work.”

“Pardon?”

Gold doesn’t repeat himself, though he can’t help smirking as he says, “You can put the bill on Killian Jones’ tab. From what she’s told me, they came here often enough.”

Belle replies with a small smirk of her own and adds a little salute. “Will do.”

Gold pauses. “Oh...and tell her I said, ‘happy anniversary.”

*******

Gold is across the street when he sees Belle approach Milah a while later from the restaurant’s wide window. It goes as spectacularly as he predicted—Milah always hated public slights. Though he does feel a shred of remorse when Belle braves the brunt of the screeching and squawking. And silverware throwing. Eventually, the manager is summoned and Milah is effectively escorted out.

It’s this unfamiliar feeling that leads him to walk back inside the restaurant, despite the hostess’ insistence that they were closing.

“I’d just like to properly thank my server,” he says, jovially.

Sure enough, he sees Belle still in the coat room. Except this time, she has rolled out a sleeping bag.

Again he is at a loss for words.

“Oh, um….” She reddens, pushing a lock of brown hair behind her ears. “Hi there.”

“Do you...are you planning on sleeping here?”

She fiddles with her thumbs. “Just for tonight. I’m kind of...in between places at the moment. Please don’t tell the staff.”

The logical thing would have been to say, “ _No, of course not._ ” Gold is many things, but above all, a man of principle. Instead he finds himself saying, “Do you need a place to stay?”

She doesn’t say yes. She doesn’t need to.

“You can stay with me,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

He doesn’t know what sort of insanity drives him to do it. Only that it seems like the right thing to do. She has done him a favor...and he hates leaving debts unpaid.

Besides, his penthouse downtown has always been a large and lonely place—albeit more preferable than the powder keg of a mansion he shared with Milah.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a guest over,” he says.


	2. The Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted under House of Strays, this is an updated continuation of a one shot I wrote for last month’s A Monthly Rumbelling. June’s non-smut prompt is: “Unexpected Rainstorm.” I know the story’s rated mature, but it’ll most likely be a good while before either of these two get into each other’s pants. 
> 
> I’d also like to give a very special thanks to my beta Maplesyrup. She is absolutely wonderful - go read her awesome fics!

* * *

 

“Settling in all right?”

 

Belle glances at him from the window the second bedroom—a window that spans the entire wall from floor to ceiling, giving a panoramic view of the glittering city below. The view alone cost him thousands of dollars a year, though he never once appreciated it. 

 

Strangely enough, he is starting to. 

 

“More than all right,” she says, wryly. “This is probably the nicest place I’ve ever stayed.” 

 

“Have you stayed in many places?” 

 

It was a harmless question, asked out of politeness rather than curiosity. But he sees her tense and decides to not press her for more—though he wonders if he should, they are veritable strangers, after all. And now they were living together. 

 

“I’ve been around,” she says brightly, though her smile doesn’t seem to reach her eyes.  _ How curious.  _ Then she clears her throat. “Thanks again, for letting me stay the night. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” She crosses her heart playfully. “I swear.” 

 

Gold can tell she's serious and is surprised for the third time that night. It makes him feel awkward, being in the company of a woman who says what she means, and does what she says. 

 

“Right,” he says. “If you need me, I’ll be just down the hall. You can help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. I usually leave early in the mornings for work. Maybe…,” and here he stumbles, “Maybe we can have lunch?” 

 

He can feel his ears burning as he says this. Their situation is ludicrous enough. They barely know each other, after all. But there is something about this girl, this Belle, that makes him want to reach out rather than withdraw. 

 

_ I got kicked to the curb, by someone who I thought cared about me... _

 

It is completely unlike him, he knows. 

 

“Lunch sounds good,” she says. There is nothing coy about the way she says it either. Granted, he hadn’t meant anything coy when he proposed them having lunch either. Lunch is just lunch and they are both adults. “Goodnight, Mr. Gold. Thank you again.” 

 

“Goodnight, Miss French.” 

 

As Gold walks back to his bedroom he can’t help feeling that while this is possibly one of the worst nights of his life, the turnout is not what he had expected. 

*******

 

Bae calls him not long after he gets through Milah’s third caustic voicemail. It’s a little before lunch and there is a summer storm raging outside his office window, the rain pelting against the glass like darts.

 

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” says Bae, and there is an unexpected pang in Gold’s chest. He can see his son clearly: hands in pockets as he leans against a pub wall, eyes heavy with disappointment. If there’s one thing Gold hates above all else, it’s disappointing his son.

 

Bae was the one good thing between him and Milah. Perhaps the only good thing. They had him young, when they were both fifteen and still happy. They thought they could take on the world. But somehow, somewhere...over the long and arduous years, their passions tempered, then cooled, then froze...leaving both their hearts callous and hollow. 

 

And it had always been Bae who was caught in the crossfire. 

 

“I’m sorry, son,” says Gold. “Your mother and I never wanted to hurt you like this.” 

 

He hears a deep intake of breath on the other end. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. But listen, Papa...I want to be level with you: I don’t want to take sides in this. It’s going to be ugly enough as it is. I’ll be there for you, but I’ll be there for you both. Okay?” 

 

There is a sting behind Gold’s eyes. He blinks it away and forces himself not to feel the overwhelming crush of failure. “Of course. I understand, son.” 

 

They move on to less painful topics. Bae’s move to New York City. His job as a bartender. His roommate, August. His girlfriend, Emma...whom Gold had yet to meet, he reminds him testily. 

 

“It’s not the right time,” Bae says, sheepishly. Suddenly, a muffled voice cuts in on the other end. “Sorry, my shift’s starting so I'll have to jet soon. But what about you, Papa? Anything new?”  

 

Gold sits back in his chair. He considers, for a moment, telling his son about Belle. He would have liked to, just to hear his son’s reaction. He always told his father that he needed to be more “spontaneous,” though he didn’t think this is exactly what Bae meant. A part of him wonders if it was wise to leave Belle unattended in his apartment. Would he come home and find that she had made off with some of his valuables? It's certainly a possibility, but still...he somehow cannot imagine Belle breaking someone's trust. Him, or anyone else's. 

 

“No, nothing new. Call me this weekend, will you? Don’t forget.” 

 

“I won’t. Love you, Papa.” 

 

*******

 

It’s an hour or so past lunch by the time Gold returns to his apartment. Storms always pained his leg, so it was slow going between his office and his home even if it was just a five minute walk. By the time he gets to his floor, he is grim, weary and in desperate need of a drink. 

 

But when he opens the door, he is greeted with the sounds and smells a home-cooked meal. Chopping and simmering. Grilled chicken and roasted vegetables. Also, some kind of stew.

 

He makes his way to the kitchen to see Belle at his stovetop. Her hair and clothes are sopping wet: had she been out in the rain? She doesn’t notice him until she turns towards the island, however, and nearly drops the steaming plates in her hand. 

 

“Oh! Hey, Mr. Gold.” 

 

He wills himself not to notice just how transparent the fabric of her shirt has become, and is relieved when she wraps an apron around herself.  _ He is nearly twice her age, for God’s sake. She may be as old as Bae.  _

 

“Hello,” he says. “I apologize...I thought I’d thought I’d be home earlier, but...the storm.” He looks at the plates she set out. “I gather that this is lunch.” 

 

“It is,” she says, proudly. 

 

“It looks lovely,” he says, though he doesn’t say this while looking at the food. 

 

During their meal, she tells him about her job as a waitress. She tells him she had been a waitress only before, at a small diner in Nevada whose owner used to be the Women’s World Champion in Archery. 

 

“Granny was pretty great,” says Belle. “I was sad to leave her.” 

 

Belle had also been a barista in Boston, a house cleaner in Chicago and a dog walker in Newport. “Being a dog walker was an interesting gig. The owner had this thing about Dalmations. Crazy fashion sense too.” Her goal had been to visit all fifty states and so far she has managed to score forty-nine. “After this, it’s Hawaii. I’m hoping to get there before the end of the year, but it’s been pretty tough scraping together the cash for the plane ticket. 

 

“I can imagine,” says Gold. Actually, he didn't have to. Having come from humble beginnings himself, he remembers both the trials of wandering from place to place with his good-for-nothing father until he broke away and made a family of his own. Regardless, he is utterly fascinated. He had never known anyone who lived so many lives in such a short time. He tells her she must be brave to do it all on her own. 

 

“It’s always been a dream of mine,” she says, blushing. “I once read  _ On the Road _ in secondary and thought I could pull a Jack Kerouac.” 

 

“And what will you do after Hawaii?” 

 

She shrugs. “There’s a whole world out there. Paris. Brazil. Thailand…” 

 

“Australia?” 

 

She frowns. “Australia?” 

 

“I’m sorry, it’s just...your accent...it…” 

 

“Oh yeah...yes.” She nods, though her eyes take on that wary, shuttered look again. “I haven’t been back there in a long while.” 

 

“Is that where home is?” 

 

She picks at her plate. “Like I said, I’ve been around.” 

 

Again, Gold’s curiosity is piqued, but he doesn’t press her about it. The subject of home obviously touches a nerve, but he could understand the pain. His was not a happy home either and he wishes he could tell her this, but he doesn’t know how to do it without making her uncomfortable.

 

_ I would have appreciated someone else looking out for me, is all...  _

 

“So while I was out shopping I finally found a way to make it up to you for staying here.” She reaches into a grocery bag and pulls out five DVD cases. “I got all these John Hughes films in the bargain bin. A quarter each, can you believe it?” 

 

Gold doesn’t know what to say to that. 

 

“Oh c’mon.  _ Sixteen Candles _ ? _ Ferris Beuller’s Day Off _ ?  _ Breakfast Club _ ?”

 

“I....don’t watch a lot of movies.” In climbing his way to the top of the financial district, there had just never been any time. 

 

“Well, when was the last time you’ve seen one?” 

 

He stares at her blankly. The last time was when Bae had turned six and  _ Beauty and the Beast _ had opened in theatres. Bae spent the next three months singing, “Be Our Guest.” 

 

“Well that settles it,” she says. “Tonight, for dinner, you can expect pizza, leftovers and a John Hughes marathon.” 

 

“Dinner?” He had half-expected her to pack her bags by now. 

 

She blushes, a lovely rosy redness gracing her fair skin. “Yeah. If that’s okay with you?” 

 

Gold may have always been fair, but hasn’t always been charitable. Kindness was a rare thing in his world, and often a weakness. So when he tells her  _ yes, of course, it would be all right if she stays another night _ he is surprised at how light his heart feels in seeing her smile again after. 


End file.
